


The Labyrinth of London:  For My Kingdom Is As Great

by FarGreenCountrySwiftSunrise



Series: The Labyrinth of London [32]
Category: Labyrinth (1986), Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Babies, Canon-Typical Violence, Children, Crossdressing, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Episode: The Abominable Bride, Established Relationship, F/M, Family, Friendship, Gen, Lazarus - Freeform, Marriage, References to David Bowie, Suicide, Triggers, Victorian, Victorian Attitudes, trigger warning, tw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-08 17:37:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6866452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FarGreenCountrySwiftSunrise/pseuds/FarGreenCountrySwiftSunrise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: There are many worlds in which tales take place. In this one, our heroes have their adventures in Victorian London as a sinister, undead force walks the earth. Victorian AU. J/S. JAM. Sherlolly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Thin White Sleuth...](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/15883) by Pika-la-Cynique. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Almighty Disclaimer  
> Oh Moffat and Gatiss,  
> Henson and Doyle,  
> To you belongs all the characters  
> And none so for me!
> 
> A/N: This story was inspired by [“The Thin White Sleuth…” by Pika-la-Cynique](http://pika-la-cynique.deviantart.com/art/The-Thin-White-Sleuth-277488920) of Girls Next Door fame. 
> 
> Transcript by Ariane DeVere aka [Callie Sullivan](http://callie-ariane.tumblr.com/post/136811576922/sherlock-the-abominable-bride-transcript).

**Taken from _A Study in Scarlet_ by Mr. Ithel Williams. Published in 1884 by _The Strand_.**

_The second Afghan War brought honors and promotion to many, but for me it meant nothing but misfortune and disaster. I came to England with my health irretrievably ruined and my future bleak. I did not have enough money to finance my trip home to the United States. Under such circumstances, I naturally gravitated to London, that great cesspool into which all the loungers and idlers of the Empire are drained. It was there that I met Dr. Stamford, a man I had corresponded with over medical matters during my time abroad. I mentioned to him during one of our conversations my need for decent, affordable housing for a somewhat odd tenant. It was then he mentioned I was the second person who had said such to him in that day._

_He introduced me to Mr. Jareth King, a man of dubious reputation due to his detecting skill. We hit it off immediately. I took a room in 221B Baker Street and began soon after investigating strange cases._

&%&%&%

**But here’s what really happened.**

&%&%&%

Sarah discreetly adjusted her beard as Stamford had turned the corner. It was an itchy, but necessary precaution. She was getting older and claiming not to have stubble due to her age was becoming less and less plausible.

After they had entered the underground mortuary, the two “gentlemen” passed by a room where a man violently flogged a corpse with a riding crop.

“Good Lord!” Sarah exclaimed.

Stamford seemed undisturbed by this. “It’s an experiment, apparently. Beating corpses to establish how long after death bruising is still possible.”

Sarah tilted her head in curiosity for a moment before limping forward. “Is there a medical point to that?”

“Not sure.”

“Neither am I. So, where’s this friend of yours?”

Stamford stopped and tilted his head towards the room with the man flogging the corpse. Williams sighed.

_Of course it would be the insane man._

Stamford entered the room first. “Excuse me!”

The blonde gentlemen continued beating the corpse.

Sarah said, “I do hope we’re not interrupting. I’m Mr. Ithel Williams”

The man stopped mid swing. He spun around and smiled, showing his pointed teeth. Sarah nearly fainted and hoped her disguise would protect her.

“Good afternoon, Mister Williams,” Jareth said.

_DAMN! DAMN! DAMN!_

“You’ve been in Afghanistan, I perceive,” Jareth said as he spun back around. He smacked a pocket watch. “Damn things never work around me.”

“You two have met?” Stamford said.

“Indeed,” Jareth said. Without turning around he tossed his walking stick to Sarah who caught it without blinking. 

“You still have excellent reflexes. You’ll do,” Jareth said.

“What?” Sarah said softly, her voice cracking.

Jareth put on his coat. “I rent a suite of rooms near Regent’s Park. Between us we could afford them.”

“ _Rooms_? How did you… never mind. I won’t room with you.”

“We’ll finalize the details tomorrow evening. I am sure you have some friends you wish to speak this over with. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a hanging in Wandsworth and I’d hate them to start without me.”

“A hanging?” Sarah said.

“I take a professional interest. I also play the piano and smoke a pipe. I presume that’s not a problem?”

“Errrr….”

“And you’re clearly acclimatized to never getting to the end of a sentence. We’ll get along splendidly. Tomorrow evening, seven o’clock, then. You can just call on Jareth King at two hundred and twenty-one B Baker Street.” Jareth swooped out of the room.

&%&%&%

When Jareth reached the outside, he inhaled deeply the stinking air of London. _What a glorious day this is._

He felt a tap on his shoulder. As he turned, he received a fist to his face knocking him flat on his back. A walking stick was placed at his throat.

“What game are you playing at?” Sarah growled.

“None. I am your best option for having a safe place to stay,” Jareth said, “Do you mind if I stand up? I would rather my suit not be stained.”

“No. Why did you play along?” 

“Because there are only two reasons a woman would dress as a man. The first is to do a job only for a man. The second is to protect herself. As you do not mind being slightly eccentric, the first is out. That leaves the second.” 

“And how could I possibly be safe with you?” 

“Ask your friends. I would never harm you. I know your secret and you know mine. We are at an impasse. If any man were to lay a hand on you, even myself, I would rip them limb from limb and stick HIS head on top of the gates of London.”

Sarah removed the walking stick from Jareth’s throat. “Fae cannot lie.” 

Jareth stood up. “No, we cannot.”

“I still will not stay under the same roof as you. You’re more likely to be able to persuade me to marry you than for me to stand to be so near a villain like you.”

Jareth winked. “I’ll take those odds.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Welcome back to _The Labyrinth of London_! This will not be a complete rehash of the episode, so those of you who have not watched it should do so now.


	2. Chapter I: Domestic

**Taken from “The Abominable Bride” by Dr. John Watson. Edited by Mr. Ithel Williams. Published in 1894 by _The Strand_.**

_Over the many years it has been my privilege to record the exploits of my remarkable friend, Mr. Jareth King. It has sometimes been difficult to choose which of his many cases to set before my readers. Some are still too sensitive to recount whilst others are too recent in the minds of the public. But in all our many adventures together, no case pushed my friend to such mental and physical extremes as that of “The Abominable Bride”._

&%&%&%

Mrs. Hudson opened the door to 221B just as the cab pulled up outside. Mr. Holmes, Mr. King, and Dr. Watson climbed out of the cab looking mildly pleased with themselves.

“Mr. King, I do wish you’d let me know when you’re planning to come home,” Mrs. Hudson said.

Billy, the houseboy, hurried out of 221B to unload the bags from the cab. Jareth paid the cabbie while answering Mrs. Hudson. “I hardly knew myself, Mrs. Hudson. That’s the trouble with dismembered country squires – they’re notoriously difficult to schedule.”

Billy tried to grab the hat box from Dr. Watson, but the good doctor pulled it away. The boy asked, “What’s in there?”

“Never mind,” Dr. Watson said.

King ruffled Billy’s hair. “Just go up and inform Mrs. King that we’re back. That’s a good lad.”

“Did you catch a murderer?” Billy asked with glee.

“Caught the murderer; still looking for the legs. I think we will call it a draw,” Jareth said.

“And I notice you’ve published another of your stories, Doctor Watson,” Mrs. Hudson said.

“Yes. Did you enjoy it?” Watson asked.

A pause. “No.”

The four went inside to escape the cold.

“Oh?” Watson said with displease.

“I never enjoy them. Not since Williams stopped writing them,” Mrs. Hudson said. 

“Why not?” Watson asked. 

Holmes and King took off their coats and hats and hung them by the front door. King smoothed back his hair and adjusted his collar.

“Well, I never say anything, do I? According to you, I just show people up the stairs and serve you breakfast,” Mrs. Hudson.

Dr. Watson said, “Well, within the narrative, that is – broadly speaking – your function.

“My what?” Mrs. Hudson gasped.

Homes leaned next to Mrs. Hudson and said, “Don’t feel singled out, Mrs. Hudson. I’m hardly in the dog one.”

Watson snapped, “‘The dog one’?”

“I’m your landlady, not a plot device. Williams understood. I’m sure she understands my indignation over this,” Mrs. Hudson said.

“Do you mean _The Hound of the Baskervilles_?” Watson asked.

Mrs. Hudson continued her list of complaints. “And you make the room so drab and dingy.”

Jareth took the steps three at a time.

Watson and Holmes followed. The doctor said. “Oh, blame it on the illustrator. He’s out of control. I’ve had to grow this mustache just so people will recognize me.”

“Sarah, where have you run off to?” Jareth said as he opened up the curtains of the sitting room.

Light filled the den to reveal a figure dressed in black mourning clothes with a black veil over her face. She had clasped her hands in front of her waist in a mixture of patience and preparation for what was to come.

“Good Lord!” Watson said when he saw the figure.

“Watch your language, Dr. Watson. There are children present,” Sarah said with mock primness. She pushed past Watson carrying Edmund in her arms. “Good morning, husband. How was your trip?”

“Passable,” Jareth said. He kissed her cheek before greeting Edmund. “Hello, Ned. And how is my son today?”

“He missed his father singing him to sleep,” Sarah said.

“Mrs. Hudson, there is a woman in the sitting room! Is it intentional?” Sherlock shouted down the stairs.

“She’s a client! I said you were out; she insisted on waiting,” Mrs. Hudson

“And what does that make me if I’m not a woman?” Sarah said pertly.

Sherlock blinked as if the answer was obvious. “You’re Williams.”

Watson offered a chair to the mystery woman, but she made no movement.

“Didn’t you ask her what she wanted?” Sherlock said to Sarah.

“I merely deduced,” Sarah said, “I did not lose all of my common sense when I married Mr. King.”

“Good afternoon, I’m Mr. King. You have already met my wife. This is my partner, Mr. Holmes. This is our friend and colleague, Doctor Watson. You may speak freely in front of him, as he rarely understands a word.”

“King,” the doctor said.

Jareth kept his attention on the woman as he walked around her. “However, before you do, allow me to make some trifling observations. You have an impish sense of humor which currently you’re deploying to ease a degree of personal anguish. You have recently married a man of a seemingly kindly disposition who has now abandoned you for unsavory companions of dubious morals. You have come to this agency as a last resort in the hope that reconciliation may still be possible.”

“Good Lord, King!” Watson said.

Sherlock muttered from the corner as he got out his violin, “All of this is, of course, perfectly evident from her perfume.

“Her perfume?” Watson asked.

“Yes, her perfume, which brings insight to me and disaster to you,” Jareth said.

“How so?”

“Because I recognized it and you did not,” Jareth said as he removed the woman’s black veil.

“Mary!”

“John,” Mary said sweetly.

“Why, in God’s name, are you pretending to be a client?” Watson demanded.

“Because I could think of no other way to see my husband, Husband.”

&%&%&%

Sherlock played the wedding waltz he had composed for the Watsons’ wedding. He stared out the window and tried to ignore the fight. Jareth sat on the couch with his son asleep on his chest and Sarah leaning against him. After listening to the Watsons go on for a while, Jareth raised his hand.

“Enough!” Jareth spoke softly. “The stage is set, and the curtain rises. We are ready to begin.”

“Begin what?” Mary asked.

“Sometimes, to solve a case, one must first solve another,” Jareth said.

“Oh, you have a case, then. A new one?” John asked.

Jareth pressed a kiss to the top of Sarah’s head. “An old one. I shall have to go deep.”

“Deep? Into what?” Sarah asked.

“Myself,” Jareth whispered.

Holmes did not turn around from the window and said, “Lestrade! Do stop loitering by the door and come in.”

Inspector Lestrade opened the door looking around warily. “How did you know it was me?”

Mr. Holmes put aside his violin before throwing himself into a chair. “The regulation tread is unmistakable; lighter than Jones, heavier than Gregson.”

Lestrade could barely get his words out. “I… I uh… I just came up. Mrs. Hudson didn’t seem to be talking.

Sherlock packed his pipe with tobacco from his Turkish slipper. “I fear she’s branched into literary criticism by means of satire. It is a distressing trend in the modern landlady. What brings you here in your off-duty hours?”

“How’d you know I’m off-duty?” Lestrade asked.

Sarah gave Lestrade a glass of whiskey before sitting down next to Jareth. The inspector nodded. “Well, yes. Thank you, Mrs. King.”

“Now, Inspector, what strange happening compels you to my door but embarrasses you to relate?” Jareth asked.

Lestrade took a long drink from his glass. “Who said anything happened?”

“You did, by every means short of actual speech,” Sherlock said.

“You have misdiagnosed, gentlemen,” Sarah said.

Jareth smirked. “Then correct me, Mrs. King.”

“He didn’t want a drink...” Sarah flipped the now empty class upside down, “…he needed one. He’s not embarrassed; he’s afraid.”

Jareth smirked broaden and showed his sharp teeth. “My Boswell is learning. They do grow up so fast.”

“Inspector, do sit down,” Sherlock said.

As Lestrade took a dining chair, he said, “I’m not afraid, exactly.”

“Fear is wisdom in the face of danger. It is nothing to be ashamed of,” Sherlock said.

Dr. Watson poured the detective inspector another drink.

“Thank you.”

“From the beginning, then,” Jareth said.

&%&%&%

It was the tale of jilted wife who killed herself after making a ruckus. What was interesting was when she rose from the grave to shoot her husband. Emelia Ricoletti was more interesting than it would first appear. 

“’Til death us do part. Twice, in this case,” Sherlock snarked.

“Extraordinary,” Dr. Watson exclaimed.

“Impossible!” Mrs. Watson said.

Jareth stood up. “Superb! Suicide as street theater; murder by corpse. Lestrade, you’re spoiling us. Gentlemen, your hats and coats.” Jareth kissed Sarah’s cheek and Edmund’s forehead. “Be a good little goblin for your Mum.”

“Where are we going?” Watson asked.

Jareth grinned as he stood up. “To the morgue. There’s not a moment to lose which one can so rarely say of a morgue.”

“And am I just to sit here?” Mrs. Watson said, “No offense, Mrs. King.”

“Some taken,” Sarah said politely.

“Not at all, my dear,” Dr. Watson said, “We’ll be hungry later!” He said to Jareth, “King, just one thing? Tweeds, in a morgue?”

Jareth pouted as he looked at his own clothes. Sarah said cheerfully, “Needs must when the devil drives, Dr. Watson.”

Mr. King gave a great sigh before running down the stairs to his next adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I have tried to not use as much from the episode when it doesn’t deal with character development. Apologies to those who have not seen “The Abominable Bride”.


	3. Chapter II: Women

**Taken from “A Scandal in Bohemia” by Mr. Ithel Williams. Edited by Dr. John Watson. Published in 1886 by _The Strand_.**

_[Sherlock Holmes] was, I take it, the most perfect reasoning and observing machine that the world has seen, but as a lover he would have placed himself in a false position. He never spoke of the softer passions, save with a gibe and a sneer. They were admirable things for the observer- excellent for drawing the veil from men's motives and actions. But for the trained observer to admit such intrusions into his own delicate and finely adjusted temperament was to introduce a distracting factor which might throw a doubt upon all his mental results. Grit in a sensitive instrument, or a crack in one of his own high-power lenses, would not be more disturbing than a strong emotion in a nature such as his._

**Taken from “The Adventure of the Second Stain” by Dr. John Watson. Edited by Mr. Ithel Williams. Published in 1895 by _The Strand_.**

_“And yet the motives of women are so inscrutable,” Mr. Holmes said._

_Mr. King smiled brightly. “This is why I am married and you are not.”_

&%&%&%

The four gentlemen took a hansom cab to the morgue. Jareth sang to himself. “Look up here, I’m in heaven. I’ve got scars that can’t be seen.”

“Have a new composition, Mr. King?” Lestrade asked.

“Huh? No. I… it is not mine… but I am not sure whose it is,” Jareth said as he rubbed his forehead, “It is playing through my head, but I cannot place it.”

Holmes asked, “Who’s on mortuary duty?”

“You know who,” Lestrade said.

Sherlock sighed. “Always him.”

“I have no idea why you cannot seem to get along with him. One would think the two of you would see eye to eye,” Jareth said with a smug smirk.

“He’s a moron.”

“So is everyone else. He’s less of a moron than everyone else as I recall you once saying,” Jareth said.

“I was intoxicated,” Sherlock said.

“Not that intoxicated,” Watson added.

Mercifully, they arrived at the morgue. After descending to the basement where the bodies were kept, they found a body covered with a sheet… and chained down.

“Please tell me which idiot did this!” Jareth snarled.

“It’s for everyone’s safety,” Anderson informed them.

Watson pulled back the sheet to reveal the face of Emelia Ricoletti. “This woman is dead. Half her head is missing! She’s not a threat to anyone!”

“Tell that to her husband,” Anderson said, “He’s under a sheet over there.”

“Whatever happened in Limehouse last night, I think we can safely assume it wasn’t the work of a dead woman,” Jareth said.

“Stranger things have happened,” Anderson said.

Holmes sighed. “Such as?”

Anderson nodded towards Jareth. The Goblin smirked. “I am hardly stranger than the impossible.”

Mr. Holmes rolled his eyes. “This is clearly a man’s work. Where is he?”

The man in charge of the morgue entered. He glared. “Holmes.”

“Hooper.” Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

The newcomer snapped at Anderson, “You – back to work.”

Anderson scuttled away. Hooper walked to the opposite side of the table where Holmes stood. Jareth moved a few paces back to enjoy the show.

Hooper raised an eyebrow at the former Goblin King. “So, come to astonish us with your magic tricks, I suppose.”

“Now my charms are all o'erthrown, And what strength I have's mine own.” Jareth shook his head. “No. Wrong person. Holmes, please take over this part. I feel a splitting headache coming on.”

Sherlock sighed again. “Is there anything to which you would like to draw my attention?”

“Nothing at all, Mr. Holmes. You may leave any time you like.”

Lestrade said, “Doctor Hooper, I asked Mr. Holmes to come here. Co-operate. That’s an order.”

Hooper took a deep breath before continuing. “There are two ‘features of interest,’ as you are always saying, Mr. King, in Doctor Watson’s stories.”

“I never say that,” Jareth said as he rubbed his forehead.

“You do, actually, quite a lot,” Watson said.

Hooper continued, “First of all, this is definitely Emelia Ricoletti. She has been categorically identified. Beyond a doubt it is her.”

“Then who was that in Limehouse last night?” Watson asked.

“That was also Emelia Ricoletti,” Hooper said.

“It can’t have been. She was dead. She was here,” Watson said.

“She was positively identified by her own husband seconds before he died. He had no reason to lie. He could hardly be mistaken,” Dr. Hooper said.

“The cabbie knew her too. There’s no question it’s her,” Lestrade added.

Dr. Watson turned to Jareth, “But she can’t have been in two places at the same time, can she?”

Jareth pinched the bridge of his nose. Something is off about this whole thing. “No, Watson. One place is strictly the limit for the recently deceased. And before you ask, magic cannot bring the dead back to life.

Watson snapped his fingers and pointed to Sherlock. “Holmes, could it have been twins?”

“No,” Sherlock said flatly.

“Why not?” Watson said.

“Because it’s never twins,” Holmes said.

“Emelia was not a twin, nor did she have any sisters. She had one older brother who died four years ago,” Lestrade said.

“Maybe it was a secret twin,” Watson said.

Jareth looked up. “No. Do you think Mrs. Ricoletti has been planning this since the moment of conception? How breathtakingly prescient of her! It is never twins, Watson… most of the time. In Shakespeare it’s always twins. Sometimes in fairy tales too. As we are in neither, we can safely assume it is not twins.”

“Can we get off of this idiotic topic and to the point?” Sherlock said, “Why were you so frightened, Lestrade? Nothing so far has justified your assault on my decanter, and why have you allowed a dead woman to be placed under arrest?”

“Ah. That would be the other feature of interest,” Hooper said. She lifted the right hand of Emelia Ricoletti. 

“A smear of blood on her finger. That could have happened any number of ways,” Watson said.

“Indeed,” Hooper coincided, “There’s one other thing. It wasn’t there earlier.”

Lestrade pointed to a nearby wall. “And neither was that.”

On the wall written in blood was the word “You”. Jareth stumbled backwards, mumbling to himself. “Gun in the mouth; a bullet through the brain; back of the head blown clean off. How could he survive?”

“‘She,’” Sherlock said.

“I’m sorry?” Jareth said in a daze.

“Not ‘he,’ ‘she’,” Watson said.

“Yes, yes, of course.” Jareth shook his head and rubbed his eyes. “Well, thank you all for a fascinating case. I’ll send you a telegram when I’ve solved it. I have a wife to appease as does Dr. Watson and Mr. Holmes. I am sure your wives are displeased with you as well after being gone so long.”

Holmes and Hooper glared at each other. Sherlock leaned over and whispered to Hooper, “Dinner at 8?”

“More like nine, dear,” Hooper said. 

The back of their hands brushed against each other as Mr. Holmes left Dr. Hooper to the corpses. 

&%&%&%

“I did warn you Mrs. Holmes would be upset with you that you did not visit after finishing the case,” Jareth said as they rode back to Baker Street in the hansom cab.

“Molly is generally more reasonable about such things,” Sherlock said.

“Not when you haven’t written to her in that time. At least I wrote to Sarah,” Jareth said.

“And sent telegrams,” Watson added, “But the case, King. Surely you must have some theory.”

“Not yet. These are deep waters, Watson. Deep waters. And I shall have to go deeper still.” As he looked out the window, Jareth sang softly to himself, “I’ve got drama, can’t be stolen. Everybody knows me now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I am aware that “Lazarus” would have been released after the events off His Last Trick, but I found it appropriate. (We’ll just say that Bowie sent Jareth an early version of the track as a Christmas present.)
> 
> I also wanted a way to give a nod to the man who created Jareth.


	4. Chapter III: Improbable

**Taken from “The Adventure of the Bruce-Pardington Plans” by Mr. Ithel Williams. Edited by Dr. John Watson. Published in 1894 by _The Strand_.**

_“We must fall back upon the old axiom that when all other contingencies fail, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”_

&%&%&%

Many months passed and Jareth was no closer to solving the case. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

“I deduce you are going to someone more clever than you,” Sarah said as she smoothed Jareth’s collar.

“He is not. I merely need a perspective from someone who is not involved with the case,” Jareth said.

“Mycroft is more clever than you. You are just a bit older and a bit wiser, that’s all,” Sarah said.

Jareth smirked. “Precious, are you ill? Did you just say I was wise?”

“Wiser does not mean wise,” Sarah said, “Play nice with your friend.”

Jareth pulled Sarah as close as her growing belly would allow. “You will be alright without me here?”

“Ned is asleep and the governess will be back in an hour. I’ll be fine, Jareth. I can take care of myself,” Sarah said.

“I just… worry. I wasn’t there when Ned was born and I know…”

“Of course you were there. Don’t you remember me throwing that pitcher at you when you tried to enter?”

Jareth shook his head, blinking away visions of chains and a prison cell. “Right. Yes, but… you know what I mean.”

“I do. Stop worrying. I’m only five months along. You won’t miss a thing.”

“If you say so.” Jareth gave her a long, tender kiss of farewell before leaving 221 Baker Street.

&%&%&%

Sherlock, Jareth, and Watson made their way into the Strangers’ Room in the Diogenes Club. Mycroft Holmes continued to increase in size. The feast surrounding him which he called “breakfast” was hardly helping matters. 

The elder Holmes motioned to his chair. “To anyone who wishes to study mankind, this is the spot.”

“Handy, really, as your ever-expanding backside is permanently glued to it. Good morning, my friend,” Jareth said.

“Jareth. Sherlock. Doctor Watson,” Mycroft said with a nod of his head.

Watson shook Mycroft’s hand. “You look ... well, sir.”

“Really? I rather thought I looked enormous.” Mycroft took a sip of port.

The doctor cleared his throat. “Well, now you mention it, this level of consumption is incredibly injurious to your health. Your heart...”

Sherlock interrupted. “No need to worry on that score, Watson. There’s only a large cavity where that organ should reside.”

“It’s a family trait,” Mycroft quipped.

“Oh, I wasn’t being critical,” Sherlock said with a smirk.

“If you continue like this, sir, I give you five years at the most,” Watson said.

“Five? We thought three, did we not?” Mycroft said.

Jareth said as he began to walk around the room, “I’m still inclined to four.”

“As ever, you see but you do not observe. Note the discoloration in the whites of my eyes, the visible rings of fat around the corneas...”

Sherlock chimed in, “Yes, you’re right. I’m changing my bet to three years, four months and eleven days.”

“A bet?” the doctor exclaimed.

“I understand your disapproval, Watson, but if he’s feeling competitive it is perfectly within his power to die early,” Jareth said.

“That’s a risk you’ll have to take,” Mycroft said.

Jareth sang to himself once again as he looked at a painting of the Reichenbach Falls. “Look up here, man, I’m in danger. I’ve got nothing left to lose.”

“You’re gambling with your own life?” Watson said.

“Why not? It’s so much more exciting than gambling with others’,” Mycroft said.

Sherlock nodded to one of the plates near Mycroft. “Three years flat if you eat that plum pudding.”

“Done!” the elder Holmes said with glee.

&%&%&%

A little later, the four gentlemen drank coffee in silence. The older Mr. Holmes broke the silence.

“I expected to see you a few days ago about the Manor House case. I thought you might be a little out of your depth there,” Mycroft said to Jareth.

The detective put aside his cup and saucer. “No. I solved it.”

“It was Adams, of course,” Mycroft said.

“Yes, it was Adams. Murderous jealousy. He’d written a paper for the Royal Astronomical Society on the obliquity of the ecliptic, and then read another that seemed to surpass it,” Jareth said.

“Did you understand it?” Mycroft asked

“Yes, of course I understood it. It was perfectly simple. Unlike Sherlock, I did not forget my knowledge of astronomy,” Jareth said.

“No – did you understand the murderous jealousy? It is no easy thing for a great mind to contemplate a still greater one,” Mycroft said.

“Did you summon me here just to humiliate me instead of help me?” Jareth asked he got up to move again.

“Yes,” Mycroft said before laughing, “Of course not, but it is by far the greater pleasure.” He took another sip of porter. “A woman will call on you – Lady Carmichael. I want you to take her case.”

“And this will help with the Bride case how?” Sherlock asked.

“Sometimes, to solve a case, one must first solve another,” Mycroft said.

Jareth sang to himself once again as he “I’m so high, it makes my brain whirl. Dropped my cell phone down below. Ain’t that just like me.”

“Cell phone? Whatever is that? You and your nonsense words,” Mycroft said. 

Sherlock interrupted the nonsense talk. “Lady Carmichael’s case – what is it?”

Mycroft waved his hand, dismissing Sherlock concern. “Oh, rest assured, it has features of interest including a moronic husband who does not properly appreciate his brilliant wife. I thought, Mr. King, you could… empathize.”

“And you’ve solved it already, I assume?” Sherlock asked.

“Only in my head. I need you for the, er... legwork,” Mycroft said.

“Why not just tell us your solution?” Watson asked.

“Where would be the sport in that?” Mycroft said, “Will you do it, King? I can promise you a superior distraction.”

Jareth replied, “On one condition: have another plum pudding.”

“There’s one on the way,” Mycroft said with glee.

“Two years, eleven months and four days,” Sherlock said.

“It’s getting exciting now!” Mycroft said as the three gentlemen left.

Of course, the case ended up being anything but simple when the time came to solve it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I like Lady Carmichael, but, we’re going to skip that bit and get to everyone’s favorite villain.


	5. Chapter IV: Nemesis

Lady Carmichael’s case had gone poorly. Her husband was dead and there were signs that Moriarty was back. Ghost were not real. Necromancy could only reanimate a corpse, not resurrect a life. There must have been a solution, but what?

For two days, Jareth sat in the parlor room of 221B, trying to discover how Moriarty could have survived. It was both impossible and improbable.

Jareth had told Sarah that he was waiting for the devil. On the third day, the devil showed up, singing.

“By the time I go to New York/I was living like a king/Then I used up all my money/I was looking for your ass.” The Napoleon of Crime stopped behind Jareth. “Everything I have to say has already crossed your mind.”

“And possibly my answer has crossed yours,” Jareth said.

“Like a bullet.”

The detective carefully got to his feet to face Professor Moriarty.

Moriarty cracked his neck. “It’s a dangerous habit, to finger loaded firearms in the pocket of one’s dressing gown. Or are you just pleased to see me?”

“You’ll forgive me for taking precautions,” Jareth said as he unconsciously blocked the route to the bedrooms even though Sarah and Edmund had gone out to the Watsons’.

“I’d be offended if you didn’t.” Moriarty took out a small pistol from the breast pocket of his jacket. He continued to play with the gun as the conversation continued as if it going off meant nothing to him. “Obviously I’ve returned the courtesy. I like your rooms. They smell so... manly. You would think with those two bothers around all the time their scent would be here too, but no. As always, you overpower those around you.”

“I’m sure you’ve acquainted yourself with the rooms before now.”

“Well, you are always away on your little adventures for The Strand. Tell me: does the illustrator travel with you? Do you have to pose during your deductions?” Moriarty wandered over to the fireplace.

Jareth walked quietly so he could stand behind his nemesis. “I’m aware of all six occasions you have visited these apartments during my absence.”

“Seven.”

“What?” Jareth said in genuine surprise.

“Seven. Did you honestly think your wife and son were off limits to me? They looked… peaceful as they slept. I can understand. On a different visit, I found out you have a surprisingly comfortable bed.” Moriarty smiled at Jareth.

“I will kill you.”

“Already did that once. It still gives you nightmares, though you’re not sure if it because you should have done it sooner or at all.” 

“You killed yourself. It is never another person’s fault when a person commits suicide.”

The consulting criminal shrugged. “Either way, you won’t do it again.” Moriarty ran his fingertips along the top of the mantelpiece, picking up dust along the way. “Did you know that dust is largely composed of human skin?”

Jareth nodded that he did.

Moriarty licked his fingertips. “Doesn’t taste the same, though. You want your skin fresh... just a little crispy.”

Jareth sighed to cover his disgust. “Won’t you sit down?”

“That’s all people really are, you know: dust waiting to be distributed. And it gets everywhere... in every breath you take, dancing in every sunbeam, all used-up people.”

“Fascinating, I’m sure. Won’t you sit...”

Moriarty stared down the muzzle of his gun and blew into the end of it three times. “People, people, people. Can’t keep anything shiny. Do you mind if I fire this, just to clean it out?” He pointed his gun towards Jareth.

The detective returned the favor. They both stood still for several moments before Jareth pulled back his gun first, but Moriarty followed close behind.

“Exactly. Let’s stop playing, Jareth. We don’t need toys to kill each other. Where’s the intimacy in that?”

“Sit. Down. James.”

“Why? What do you want?”

“You chose to come here.”

“Not true. You know that’s not true. What do you want, Jareth?”

“The truth.”

“That. Truth is boring.” He began to walk across the room to the sofa. “You didn’t expect me to turn up at the scene of the crime, did you? Poor old Sir Eustace. He got what was coming to him.”

“But you couldn’t have killed him.”

“Oh, so what? Does it matter? Stop it. Stop this. You don’t care about Sir Eustace, or the Bride or any of it. There’s only one thing in this whole business that you find interesting. The Bride put a gun in her mouth and shot the back of her head off, and then she came back.” He shrugged. “Impossible. But she did it, and you need to know how. How don’t you? It’s tearing your world apart not knowing.”

The room began to shake.

“James, you’re trying to stop me... to distract me, derail me.”

“Because doesn’t this remind you of another case? Hasn’t this all happened before? As your sister’s attempts at making you believe that there is some order in this world has told you, ‘There’s nothing new under the sun.’”

“What was it? What was it? What was that case? Huh? D\o you remember? It’s on the tip of my tongue. It’s on the tip of my tongue. It’s on the tip of my tongue. It’s on the tip...” Moriarty rested the muzzle of the gun on his tongue, “...of my tongue.”

“For the sake of Mrs. Hudson’s wallpaper, I must remind you that one false move with your finger and you will be dead.”

Moriarty spoke incoherently.

“I’m sorry?”

James pulled the gun out of his mouth. “Dead... is the new sexy.” He proceeded to blow his brains out once again.

Yet Moriarty jumped back up as if blood and brains had not gone flying all around him. “Well, I’ll tell you what: that rather blows the cobwebs away.”

“How can you be alive?” Jareth asked quietly.

“How do I look, huh?” He spun around to show where his skull had been blown to bits. “You can be honest. Is it noticeable?”

“You blew your own brains out, James. How could you survive?”

“Well, maybe I could back-comb.”

“I saw you die. Why aren’t you dead?”

Moriarty stepped closer and whispered. “Because it’s not the fall that kills you, Jareth. Of all people, you should know that. It’s not the fall. It’s never the fall. It’s the landing.”

As the world fell apart, Jareth could hear music from instruments not yet made. “This way or no way/You know I’ll be free/Just like that bluebird/Now ain’t that just like me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Every time I think Moriarty can’t get any creepier… but at least he’s not Magnussen.


	6. Chapter V: Fall

**Taken from “The Adventure of the Empty House” by Mr. Ithel Williams. Published in 1894 by _The Strand_.**

_“I had little doubt that I had come to the end of my career when I perceived the somewhat sinister figure of the late Professor Moriarty standing upon the narrow pathway which led to safety.”_

&%&%&%

It had been a strange day. First, Jareth thought he had dreamed the whole Victorian scenario in an attempt to figure out how Moriarty survived. And then it went back to the Victorian era and then back to the present… or was it the future? 

Either way, Jareth now knew he was a dream. He had not been to Reichenbach Falls in Switzerland since the 18th century. Jareth staggered to his feet, back in Victorian garb. “Oh, I see. Still not awake, am I?”

Moriarty stood a few feet away, blocking the path away from the Falls. “Too deep, Jareth. Way too deep. Congratulations. You’ll be the first man in history to be buried in his own Mind Palace.”

Jareth motioned towards the Falls. “The setting is a shade melodramatic, don’t you think?”

“For you and me? Not at all.”

“What are you?”

“You know what I am. I’m Moriarty. The Napoleon of Crime.”

Jareth shook his head. “James is dead.”

Moriarty stalked towards Jareth and stopped a few feet away. “Not in your mind. I’ll never be dead there. You once called your brain a hard drive. Well, say hello to the virus. This is how we end, you and I. Always here, always together.”

Jareth walked closer so they were only an arm’s length apart. “You have a magnificent brain, Moriarty. I admire it. I concede it may be even be the equal of my own.”

“I’m touched. I’m honored.”

“But when it comes to the matter of unarmed combat on the edge of a precipice you’re going in the water.”

Jareth fell to the ground faster than he realized he had been hit. Moriarty began to choke him. “Oh, you think you’re so big and strong, Jareth! Not with me!” James threw in several punches for emphasis. “I am your WEAKNESS!”

The detective was out of Moriarty’s grasp long enough to get to his knees. Moriarty kicked him in the head. “I am everything you HATE about yourself! Every time you are the VILLAIN! Every time you STUMBLE, every time you FAIL, when you’re WEAK...” There were kicks for emphasis. “I. AM. THERE!”

Jareth kept trying to fight back, but he was beginning to forget why. _Why keep trying? Why fight this?_

“No. Don’t try to fight it. LIE BACK AND LOSE!” Moriarty pulled Jareth to his feet and let both of them lean over the edge. “Shall we go over together? It has to be together, doesn’t it? At the end, it’s always just you AND ME!”

“Jimmy, if you would please stop hurting my husband, it would be much appreciated,” Sarah said.

Moriarty looked back and Jareth grinned. His Champion in all her glory. She stood, legs spread and her hands on her waist. She wore the same modern clothes he had seen her wear as they said good-bye by the plane.. 

“That’s not fair. There’s two of you!” Moriarty whined as he let Jareth go.

“We’re married. That’s generally how it goes,” Sarah said, “Jareth, would you mind disposing of him?”

“I rather thought it was your turn,” Jareth said.

Sarah shrugged. “If it was actually Moriarty, I wouldn’t have a second thought. However, I believe a person should defeat their own inner demons.”

“Of course, precious.” Jareth casually shoved Moriarty off a cliff. The detective sauntered towards his wife. “Now, I get to kiss the girl and wake up.”

“What do you mean you get to wake up? I’m the one who is dreaming, not you,” Sarah said.

Jareth frowned as he pulled Sarah against him. “Of course I’m dreaming. You are a lovely, lovely figurative of my imagination to help me figure out the Emelia Ricoletti case.”

“Who’s Emelia Ricoletti?”

Jareth stroked Sarah’s hair. “You know in both timelines. You should know.”

“Know what? Who is Emelia Ricoletti?”

The ground gave way and the two fell into thin air. The dark rocks turned into light stone and they landed in a place where rules were nonsense. They landed softly.

“This is where I defeated you,” Sarah said as she pulled away from Jareth to spin around. 

Jareth tugged on the sleeves of his long coat. He was back in the clothes he wore onto the plane. “Yes and no.”

Sarah ran back to Jareth and gently touched his face. “But it’s you. It’s really you?”

He nodded. Sarah pulled him down for a passionate kiss. After saying hello and needing a bit of air, they rested their foreheads together. 

“Why are we here, Jareth? What’s happening? The last thing I remember was Mr. Umbrella being upset over something and saying your plane would be back in less than a minute.”

“I… I have no idea. I… Moriarty is dead.”

“Yes, he blew his brains out.”

“I was trying to prove that and… I went too deep into my own mind. I don’t think I would have gotten back if the Labyrinth hadn’t sent you.”

“The Labyrinth sent me?”

Jareth nodded. “Something is going to attack it. Something connected to Moriarty.”

“But not Moriarty?”

“Not Moriarty.” Jareth began to collapse. Sarah helped him to the ground. “It will never end, will it?”

“What won’t?

Jareth pulled Sarah close. “This fighting. Someone else will show up to take our previous enemy’s place. I’m so tired of fighting it.”

“Doing the right thing is always going to be difficult. I certainly struggle with it. So does everyone else we love. Do you want to give up? Run away from all of this? Find a nice little island paradise and forget the world?”

Jareth shook his head. “No. It wouldn’t be right. I couldn’t do that. Why would I give up after my rather lengthy reform? Also, I hate sand.”

Sarah laughed and kissed Jareth’s forehead. “Good. I have faith in you, Jareth. And you won’t fight this alone. We have so many friends and family who will fight with us.”

He kissed Sarah again. “Thank you, precious, for saving me.”

“You saved yourself. I merely helped.”

A final kiss. “I love you, Sarah.”

“I love you too. I’ll be there for you until the world falls down.”

&%&%&%

A slap to the face awoke Sarah. She jerked up and rubbed her jaw. “Good grief, Joanna! What was that for!”

“You didn’t wake up either when the plane swooped past or when Ned cried for you,” Joanna said.

Sarah shook herself and unbuckled Edmund from his car seat. “The plane has landed?”

“Yes. They are about to let Jareth off.”

“Good. Good,” Sarah said as she soothed Edmund, “It’s okay Ned. The plane was loud, I know, but it will be okay. Your Daddy is coming back. I have no idea what’s going on, but I think we’re going to have to go save the day. Your Dad and I are rather good at that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: You didn’t think Sarah was suddenly going to sit on the sidelines, did you? 
> 
> Jareth did not overdose. He lived in the Victorian era and his brain provided the details, but it went a bit too far.
> 
> *sigh* I’m going to miss Moriarty.


	7. Chapter VI: Miss Me?

**From “The Abominable Groom” by Sarah Williams. September 9, 2015. Published on _Sarah Williams’ Blog_.**

_And then Jareth, asked why it was rude to discuss my pregnancy issues (nausea, weight gain, etc.) with Sherlock as if it was science experiment. Honestly! I have no idea why I put up with him sometimes._

_**Comment from dancemagicdance1986 -** Because you love me, that’s why. I’m sorry, precious._

_**Comment from Sarah Williams -** You’re forgiven love._

_**Comment from dancemagicdance1986 -** Thank you, precious. Would you like me to continue my apology in person? ;)_

_**Comment from Sarah Williams -** Oh, yes. Certainly. ;)_

_**Comment from Sherlock Holmes -** WOULD YOU PLEASE KEEP YOUR SHAGGING PLANS TO YOURSELF!_

_**Comment from Sarah Williams -** This is what happens when you encourage your friends to snog on a regular basis. Do keep out of 221B for a few hours. ;)_

_**Comment from dancemagicdance1986 -** Or a few days. ;)_

_**Comment from Sarah Williams -** I like the sound of that. ;)_

_**Comment from Sherlock Holmes -** YOU’RE DISGUSTING! AND STOP USING THE WINKING FACE! _

_**Comment from Sarah Williams -** ;)_

_**Comment from dancemagicdance1986 -** ;)_

_**Comment from Sherlock Holmes -** I’m moving to Australia._

&%&%&%

Sarah, Joanna, and Edmund were there for Jareth when the plane landed. The former goblin king skipped out of the jet.

“Jareth, what’s wrong? Mycroft won’t tell us what happened until you landed,” Sarah said.

“Second best thing that could happen right now,” Jareth said before kissing Sarah, “You said we would see each other again and you were right. That’s the best thing.”

Sarah gave Edmund to Jareth. “And what is the second best thing?”

Mycroft showed the message on his phone to Sarah and Joanna.

“Edmund, your Papa’s arch nemesis is back,” Jareth said in a sing-song voice, “And we’re going to stop him.” Jareth began singing “Stayin’ Alive”.

“So he’s alive?” Joanna said.

“I never said he was alive. I said he was back,” Jareth said.

“So he’s dead,” Joanna said.

“Of course he’s dead. He blew his own brains out. No one survives that. I just went to the trouble of almost dying in my own mind to prove it,” Jareth said.

“It was real?” Sarah said.

“Yes, as real as any dream can be,” Jareth said, “Moriarty is dead, no question. But more importantly, I know exactly what he’s going to do next. We need to get to Baker Street. I am going to need everyone’s help. Do you have any more information, Mycroft?”

“It has been five minutes. You know as much as we know,” Mycroft said.

“Not true. I know what’s going on… sort of. Can’t you go and make yourself useful? For example, getting me a pardon like a proper friend would?” Jareth said.

Mycroft nodded with a ghost of a smile on his lips. “I will tell you more when I know more.”

“Good,” Jareth said. He went about putting Edmund back into his car seat. Sarah got in on the other side while Joanna hopped into the passenger seat. 

“What do we do next?” Joanna said.

“Baker Street. Call in your husband and children. When I said everyone, I meant everyone,” Jareth said. He got into the car and shut the door. 

After buckling his seat belt, Jareth looked over at Sarah and touched her face. “Until the world falls down, precious?”

Sarah smiled. “Until the world falls down.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: _The Labyrinth of London_ will conclude with “Should You Need Us”.


End file.
